


I, His Isthmus

by Project7723



Category: Jack Ryan & Related Fandoms, Jack Ryan (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood Transfusions, But it's ok cause Cathy's there, Cathy Muller is actually the best, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Light Angst, Mentions of Blood, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, There are midnight conversions, There is blood type jargon, there is banter, title may change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project7723/pseuds/Project7723
Summary: "What now?" Greer coughed. "They'll be looking for us in the hospitals."Jack nodded slowly. "I may know a guy."When Jack and Greer are attacked on their way from the airport, Jack calls in a favor with an old friend.
Relationships: Cathy Muller/Jack Ryan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cckyber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cckyber/gifts).



> For Zira666, because she's a gem. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: You know the drill. This is strictly fanfiction--I own none of it. Except for the receptionist and his crossword puzzle. :)

"You good?" Jack Ryan paused at the step of the motel's front door, frowning with concern at the pale face of his burden.

Drops of sweat gathered on James Greer's face, which was twisted in an expression of pained focus as his gasping breathes hissed past Jack's ear. He spared a grunt of affirmation.

"Okay. Here we go."

Greer hissed in pain as Jack hoisted him onto the step.

"Easy, easy." Jack freed a hand with difficulty and reached to turn the rusty knob. Cautiously, he poked his head inside before stepping in and helping Greer over the threshold.

An enormous receptionist sat at the counter behind a metal framework, puffing on a fat cigar as he studied a crossword puzzle.

"Excuse me," Jack said, praying the man was shady enough not to report the two of them; he could only imagine how they looked, covered in dust and blood.

No response.

Jack cleared his throat. "Hey, could we get a room?"

The man lifted his free hand in a lethargic demand for patience and wrote something on his page.

Greer was panting, leaning more heavily on Jack with each second that passed. Jack's jaw clenched, and he snapped. Reaching through the small opening at the bottom of the framework, he slammed the newspaper to the countertop. "Hey! We need a room. Now."

The man held up his hands. "Alright, alright. Chill out, man!" He reached into a drawer, fingers scrambling frantically until they finally gripped a key. He tore his eyes away from Jack just long enough to read out the tag on the keychain. "Room 204. Sixty bucks a night."

Jack scrounged in his pocket for his wallet, handed over the money, and grabbed the key. Adjusting Greer's position, he turned towards the stairs. "Thanks."

"Hey," the man called after them, "try not to bleed on the carpets, man; it's a pain to clean up."

Jack doubted the carpets had been cleaned within the decade or would be cleaned in the next, but he waved in acknowledgment anyways.

They fought their way up the stairs, Jack all but carrying the older man. He grunted, straining beneath the weight. "Let's not make a habit of this, huh?"

"Please," Greer said, sarcasm filling the breathless wheeze. "This is pay--payback for the time I had to haul you home after the Suleiman debacle." He paused to curse when his foot caught on a step. "Do you know how hard it is to balance when you're dragging the whole Empire State Building along with you?"

Jack laughed. "I had no idea blood loss would make you so dramatic."

"I'll have you know I won three awards for drama in high school."

"Congratulations. Now that you've got it out of your system, could we please shut up and focus on walking?"

Jack was relieved to find that their room was right by the stairs. He leaned Greer against the wall as he fumbled the key in the lock and pushed open the door. They both winced at the ungodly screech that hit their adrenaline-heightened senses as it fought its way open on ancient hinges.  
  


"Bedbugs," Greer muttered.

"What?"

"Bedbugs. The odds of this joint not having them's gotta be about a hundred to one."

Jack sighed. "Great."

He pulled the door closed behind them and they stumbled to the nearest bed.

"Careful," Jack warned, easing Greer down. The grime-crusted window let only the faintest bit of evening light into the small room. Jack straightened and searched for a light switch. Finding nothing, he turned to the room's single lamp and pulled the chain. It flickered, and for a moment he thought it would go out, but then it steadied and actually brightened a bit.

A sigh escaped his lips as he sat heavily on the unoccupied bed.

Greer met his gaze. "What now? They--" he coughed, "--they'll be watching the hospitals."

Jack nodded slowly. "I may know a guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The "Suleiman debacle" Greer mentions is a reference to season one, obviously, but more specifically to my first Jack Ryan fic---Aftermath.


	2. Chapter One

Cathy Muller closed the door of her apartment, hung her purse and coat neatly on their assigned hooks, kicked her shoes from her sore feet, and let out her day's stress in one long sigh. A soft smile graced her lips. _Home._

Small shopping bag in hand, she glided in her socked feet to the kitchen counter, opening Spotify on her phone as she went. Some classical music would set the perfect tone for a relaxing evening to herself.

From the drawer by the stove, she pulled a box of matches. From her bag, she brought forth a lavender vanilla candle. She pried off the lid and inhaled deeply, the smile returning. It smelled just like a London Fog latte.

She put on the kettle and placed a bag of Tetley in her favorite mug. Grabbing the carton of cream from the fridge, she placed it next to the mug and headed to her bedroom to change. She discarded her scrubs and donned a dusky pink sweater and a pair of yoga pants. Another contented sigh escaped her lips. Vivaldi's _Spring_ floated faintly from the kitchen, bringing with it a whiff of lavender.

Back in the kitchen, she twisted her hair up with an ornamental chopstick, washed her hands, and began searching her fridge for leftovers that looked appealing. She pulled out a carton of chow mein, some baby bell peppers, and mushrooms. She laid the bounty out on the counter and was just reaching for some spices when her phone vibrated on the counter. _Must be Rebecca,_ she thought, opening her phone.

It was not Rebecca.

On her screen there glared a name she had been trying not to think about for six months. In the last three, she had been mostly successful.

_Jack Ryan._

She stared for a minute or two, wishing the notification would disappear, and she could go on with her night without any emotional turmoil. Her father's pragmatic voice cut through her suddenly numb mind. _"Wishing never did anybody any good."_

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, schooled her face to an expression of calm indifference, and opened the message.

She frowned. Whatever she had or had not been expecting, this was certainly not it.

_In a bit of a bind. Partner's hurt. Help??_

She almost laughed. 'Help??' It was ridiculous. Then her face sobered. _Will I_? She scoffed. How could she not? She began to type, and before she knew it, she had hit send.

_Of course. Where are you?_

No turning back now.

He replied almost instantly _. Goodnite Motel on Kings and Philly. Room 204. Park a couple blocks away?_

A strand of hair fell into her face. She swiped it back behind her ear. _How is your partner hurt? What should I bring?_

This time, she had to wait a full two minutes before he responded.

_GSW to thigh. Think it might have hit an artery._

She frowned. _Ok. Do you know how to apply a tourniquet?_

_Yes_

_Do it. I'll be there soon. Are you okay?_

There was a pause. Then, _Relatively._

She rolled her eyes. "I've heard that one before," she muttered. _Hang tight. I'll get there as soon as I can_.

She shook her head. "What have you gotten into, Jack?"

* * *

Thirty-seven minutes later Cathy pulled into the parking lot of a busy shopping center.

She looked at her face in the visor mirror. With three deep breaths, she shoved the anxiety away and smiled, praying she looked like any other woman out on errands, and not a nervous wreck on her way to meet her ex with a secret government job and his shot-up partner in a seedy motel. _Pretty sure I saw a thriller that started this way once,_ she thought, shaking her head. She met her eyes in the mirror. "What are you doing, Cathy?"

The idea of turning back briefly flitted through her mind, but she knew she could not. Taking another deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted to three before pulling her coat more tightly about her and forcing herself out into the icy sleet. Hefting her largest purse over her shoulder, she locked the door and set off at a brisk pace, bracing herself against the wind and glancing over her shoulder periodically. It was already nearly dark, and she slid a hand in her coat pocket to ensure that her can of mace was still there.

Loose wisps of hair whipped about her face as she walked against the wind, stinging her eyes and making it difficult to read the street signs. Turning a corner, she saw the motel in question at the end of the block. Nearing, she noted that the neon sign over the door had several lights out, leaving only the perplexing message "G ODN TE MOT L" visible. _That's hardly encouraging._

Pushing the door open, she cautiously poked her head inside.

An immense receptionist sat doing a crossword puzzle, his cigar sending clouds of putrid smoke to glow with dust particles in the orange light of the bare bulb above his head. Her first thought was that he looked like he'd been working his job too long. He looked as though he'd turned to stone. He gave her only the sparest of glances as she passed before releasing a long-suffering sigh and returning to his puzzle.

She hesitated a moment more, unsure, before ducking up the stairs.

Room 204 was just to the left of the stairs. She paused before the door, suddenly breathless. Raising her eyes to the damp-stained ceiling, she offered a silent prayer and steeled herself. She knocked.

Shuffling sounds came from the other side of the door almost immediately, and then a low, "Who's there?" (The doors didn't even have peep-holes.)

"It's Cathy."

More scuffling sounds as the door was unlocked (with an actual key). Then the door swung inward, and Jack's somewhat-the-worse-for-wear, unshaven, but oh-so-familiar face was looming over her. Lines of worry and weariness were etched deeply around his eyes and mouth, but they did nothing to suppress his boyish grin at the sight of her. "Hey."

"Hey," she said. Inwardly, she cursed him for being so impossibly endearing.

He opened the door wider, his expression becoming serious. "Greer's in here. Thank you so much for coming."

"Of course." She stepped inside. "I'm a doctor. It's what I do."

"Right."

She might have regretted her crisp statement, but at that moment she caught sight of her patient.

James Greer was sprawled on the bed, eyes closed, a blood-soaked tourniquet around his right leg, which was propped up on pillows that would otherwise have been beneath his head. "You've got the leg elevated. That's good." His skin was an odd, purplish color. She could see a towel, totally saturated with blood, on the bathroom's tile floor.

Jack followed her gaze. "Oh--here." He extended the towel in his own hand. It, too, had a concerning amount of blood on it. Upon further inspection, so did Jack's shirt.

Pulling the room's single, rickety chair to the bedside, she sat to examine his wound. "You were right--the bullet grazed his femoral artery. I was hoping it wouldn't be necessary, but he is going to need a transfusion. Do you know what his type is?"

"B positive."

Her frown deepened. Her own was A positive--it would only poison him. "And yours?"

"O pos. Are they compatible?"

She shed her coat and began to unpack her purse. "Fortunately, yes." She met his eyes. "Are you willing?"

There was no hesitation. "Absolutely."

She nodded. "Alright. First things first. I'll need to get the bleeding stopped." She tugged on a pair of latex gloves.

"What can I do?"

"For now...wait." She glanced up at him. "It'll be your turn soon enough. Maybe get some rest? Or," she gave him a pointed once over, "take a shower. You look like you could use one." She smirked.

"No kidding," he huffed, but made no move to go. "Are you sure there's nothing I can--"

"You can get out of my hair, Jack." She softened her words with a smile. "You've done what you can for now. My turn. When you're needed, the nurse will come and get you," she teased.

He chuckled. "Right. I'll just...Right." He grabbed a backpack from beneath the window sill and headed to the bathroom. The door squealed wildly on its hinges as he pushed it closed.

After a moment, she heard the shower running. She let out a sigh of relief and turned her full attention to her patient.


	3. Chapter Two

Cathy snipped the last stitch on Greer's wound and reached for a cloth to wipe away any remaining blood. Once she had sterilized the area yet again, she applied a patch bandage and removed her gloves.

Leaning back in her chair, she stretched, lips turning up in amusement as she watched Jack pace the limited floorspace.

He looked a little better now; it seemed he'd had a clean set of clothes in his backpack, if not a comb.

Something twisted at Cathy's heart and her smile faded. Jack's very posture exuded a weariness deeper than mere physical exhaution. His eyes held that distant, haunted expression she had once tried so hard to chase away. How long it had been since he'd slept?

She pursed her lips, remembering his response to her message.

Jack caught her looking. "My turn?"

"Yeah, almost." She paused, crossing her arms. "Um, earlier, when you said you were relatively okay...What exactly did that mean? Because we've already established that your idea of relatively okay and mine are very different."

He shook his head. "A few cuts and bruises. Nothing significant. I think somebody's bullet must've nicked my arm at some point."

"Let me see."

He sat on the vacant bed and began to unbutton his shirt. "Let the record state that compared to him," he nodded in Greer's direction, "I'm just peachy." Wincing, he pulled his left arm from its sleeve. A once-white washcloth was sloppily folded over his bicep, held in place with a few rounds of masking tape.

Cathy snorted. "Don't quit your day job. This is a shoddy piece of work." She tugged at the tape.

"My day job is the reason you broke up with me."

And there it was.

"Jack..." She sighed. "No, _this_ is the reason I broke up with you." She gestured to his arm, now bleeding freely. _"That's_ the reason I broke up with you." She swept her hand back to include Greer. "I can't do this, Jack. You can't even do this. Look at you--it's eating you up now, just like it was then. I wanted to help you, Jack. I did. But you wouldn't let me in, and I..." She shook her head. "It wasn't healthy. For either of us." Her fingers stilled, voice softening. "I had to get out, Jack."

He bowed his head. His face was turned away, but she could see that her words had cut deep.

The tense quiet that followed gave Cathy more than enough time to agonize over her choice of words.

Jack broke it, his voice a whisper. "I miss you."

She looked up. Jack's eyes were on her face, his intent gaze disarming. A second that felt like an eternity passed, but then he gave a half-hearted smirk and turned away.

"I miss you too," Cathy said softly, surprising herself with her sudden transparency.

He let out a sigh so deep that Cathy had to move her hands away for a moment to avoid hurting him. She passed her hand over his shoulder. "Try and sit still for me?"

"Sorry."

"You'll need stitches." Turning his face toward the room's single lamp, she examined the cut on his cheek. "Maybe here, too." Their eyes met suddenly, and she removed her hand. "But that can wait until after the transfusion."

"Right," he said, rising.

"Ah--you will want to be lying down."

He complied.

Moving the chair so it sat between the beds, she set up her equipment on Jack's. She frowned, scanning the room for something she could repurpose as an IV pole. There was a coat hanger in the corner. _That'll do._

Dragging it over, she hung up two plastic pouches, one empty, and one filled with a clear liquid. She rubbed an alcohol wipe over Greer's wrist and inserted a needle, which she taped in place and then connected to the full bag via a thin rubber tube. "Fluids," she explained, "water, electrolytes, et cetera." Two more tubes were connected to the empty bag. "Now for the tricky part. I hope you don't get queasy around blood?" Now there was something that had never come up over dinner at Buster's.

He chuckled. "Not lately."

Greer was now hooked up to the second bag, and she moved over to Jack. "Roll up your sleeve? You will experience moderate to severe dizziness and/or nausea, possibly fainting or a tingling sensation." She tied a band just above his elbow, pulling it tight and proceeding to swab the crook of his arm. "All are perfectly normal with a procedure like this. Make a fist for me?" She found his vein and inserted the needle, quickly connecting the last available tube to the needle's small attachment. She shifted the empty bag a bit. "Alright. That should do it."

Sure enough, blood began to flow almost immediately through the tube and up to the bag on the coat hanger. Cathy nodded in satisfaction.

"Wow. That stuff makes good time," Jack observed as Cathy crossed to the other side of the bed.

She sat, re-opening the small case that held her suture equipment and resumed her work on his arm. "Mm. So, why don't you tell me what happened? And why you're in this charming establishment with me instead of at a hospital with an on-duty doctor who specializes in something other than epidemiology?"

He hesitated. "Suffice to say I stumbled across a paper trail that incriminated some very powerful people. I guess I got too close. Greer picked me up at the airport today, and on the way back to Langley...all hell broke loose." He sighed. "They'd, uh...They'd look for us at the hospitals."

She nodded. "Okay. So what's next? What will you do after this? Greer is in no condition to go running around chasing terrorists, or whatever this is."

"I know a guy who can set us up with a safe house. I guess...I guess we'll go from there." He gently grasped her wrist, effectively halting her work. "I didn't plan this, Cathy."

Her expression softened. "I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to accuse. What you do...it's important. I know that. And I know it's necessary." She attempted a smile. "I just hate to see you in trouble."

He opened his mouth to speak, but afraid of what he would say, Cathy beat him to it.

"Try not to move that." She nodded towards his arm. "You'll jostle the needle and tear the vein. Then you'll be needing a transfusion."

He let her wrist go, gingerly repositioning his arm at his side.

_Well, that's one way to kill a moment._

After a few minutes of Cathy working in silence and Jack staring at the ceiling, he started, hands bracing against the mattress.

"What's wrong?" Cathy asked in alarm.

He blinked a few times. "You weren't joking about the dizziness," he huffed, slowly settling into the mattress once more. "Sorry."

She waved his apology away. "Nothing quite like feeling like you're going to fall when you're already lying down." Checking the monitor clipped to Jack's IV, she added, "It won't be too much longer."

His eyelids fluttered. "Tha's probably a good thing."

She squeezed his shoulder. "You know, you're probably saving his life."

A few more moments passed, Jack struggling to remain conscious. Cathy put a hand on his face, trying to draw his focus. "Jack. Hey, it's okay. You're safe here, and you need rest. You can let go."

His eyes found hers once more before they rolled back and his lids slipped closed.

She rubbed her thumb in a circle over his cheek. Tears sprang into her eyes. Seeing him again, in pain and alone, left her with the same cold hopelessness she felt when there was a patient who was beyond her help. It was a pain that even the practiced professionalism which shielded her from so much else in the workplace had never been able to fully shut out. But this was worse. The tears spilled over, and she swiped them away, refocusing her attention on Jack's arm.

She completed the stitches and had just finished wrapping it in gauze when she spotted something.

A white tear in the skin of his left shoulder, about three inches below his collar bone. She stopped short. The last time she had seen that scar, it was still a red and angry wound. She had tended to it herself. It healed better than she had expected it to--Jack hadn't done the best job of limiting his movement in the weeks after his injury, notably prolonging the healing process. A week or two before they parted ways, she had given him a salve to help with the scarring. She never expected him to actually use it, but looking at it now...The corners of her mouth turned up of their own accord. He must have been using it.

She looked at his battered face, and her heart swelled until she thought she could not bear it. She loved him.

A sliver of doubt about her decision wormed its way into her mind, and for the first time since she had left him, she didn't push it away. "I truly do miss you," she whispered.

 _Why did you leave?_ The voice was accusatory. "I loved you," she whispered, looking at his face, which somehow seemed much younger in sleep. _No,_ the voice rebuked, _not loved._

The truth socked her in the gut.

 _I love_ you.

She pressed a hand to her face as guilt broiled up inside of her. "That's why I left," she whispered. It had been a pattern in her life--a lesson she learned early on. The people she loved would leave or betray her, breaking her heart and making implicit trust nearly impossible. It was easier to shut people out before the inevitable hurt they would cause. She still remembered the way her father had slurred the words at her on the night her mother died, his hot breath reeking of scotch in her face. _"You can' trust anybody, Cathy girl; the people y' trust always come back ta bite'cha."_

He had proved that statement time and time again himself as she grew up. The disappointments and broken promises piled up as she watched him become swallowed up by a business where success depended on being the first to strike and the last one standing. There was no trust, just business. If she had a dollar for every time she'd heard him say _that..."It's just business, just business, just business."_

So she learned. She kept everyone at arm's length, too far for a double-crossing to cause much pain, all the while vowing that she would never be like her father. Her work relationships were just that--work relationships. There had been times over the years when she found herself speaking to a date in her "doctor" voice, and there were times when her date responded in kind. Just business.

She had armored herself in loneliness and told herself she was happy that way. _Pathetic._

Jack had been...different. He was honest, genuine. Perhaps too much so. In an environment where half-truths and cryptic answers were all too common, she had been drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He took her off guard, kept her guessing, made her laugh. She learned, of course, that part of his honesty was an act--he had skeletons and secrets just like everyone else, but those core virtues remained true of him. Her walls had crumbled. For the first time she could remember, she hadn't felt so alone. She was happy--not merely satisfied or content, but _happy._

Then a terrorist tried to blow up the hospital she worked in, and Jack had been shot. It was a minor wound that would cause little-to-no lasting issues, but if that bullet had hit two inches to the right?

Even now, she closed her eyes against the thought.

Now, alone and without the excuse of distraction, she could see that the pain she felt had been as much her own fault as Jack's. She had drawn away, gradually, subconsciously allowing her fear to dictate her next move.

Remorse burned her throat, and she angrily smeared at the tears that were now dropping rapidly. Jack needed her. He had told her once, a few weeks after he had opened up to her about the crash. She asked him about the nightmares, cautiously, afraid he would shut her down with an "it's fine, I'm fine, don't worry about me." Instead, he met her gaze, a small smile on his face and an enormous glow in his eyes. _"Yeah, uh...They've been a little better."_

And she had left him alone because she was scared. Scared she would lose him, scared he would leave, scared of the vulnerability they were opening themselves up to. Her lip curled down in scorn. _Selfless Doctor Cathy._

On auto-pilot, she stood, checking the monitor and disconnecting Jack and Greer from the transfusion equipment. _You messed up. Fix it._ Her mind raced for an answer, and she desperately tried to quiet it as she checked on her patients.

Greer's color was a bit more human, but Jack's skin was now pale, cast yellow by the dim glow of the lamp. She pressed her thumb and index finger to her eyes, trying to rub away the dull ache developing behind them. "Electrolytes," she muttered. _They'll need electrolytes. Gatorade?_

She thought she had seen a vending machine at the end of the hall. Neither showed signs of waking any time soon, so she snatched the key from the nightstand, her wallet from her purse, and stepped into the hall, locking the door behind her.

Sure enough, there was an ancient vending machine rumbling against the far wall. As she neared, she saw that the face of the machine was dented and cracked, as though the people who had come before her had held boxing matches with the poor thing rather than getting drinks.

Scanning the options, she was relieved to see Gatorade. She fed in two dollars and smacked the appropriate button, waiting as it hissed a sputtered before releasing the bottle with a clunk loud enough to make her jump. Struggling with crumpled bills, she repeated the process. This time she braced herself for the clunk.

She checked the expiration date on the bottles, just to be sure. Grabbing her change, she turned to go--

And hesitated.

The hall suddenly seemed like far too short of a walk. The questions she had momentarily pushed aside descended upon her once more like smog.

Breathing deeply, she lifted her chin and walked.

Her feet moved slowly even as her mind raced, and by the time she reached the door, she had reached a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Chapter three will be up soon, Lord willing and the creek don't dry.  
> Thoughts and crit always welcome!  
> ❤❤❤-7723


	4. Chapter Three

Cathy sat in her chair between the two beds, her face resting in her palm as she gazed, lost in thought, at Jack's too-pale face.

"Doctor Muller, I presume."

Cathy jumped at the raspy voice, head swiveling in confusion before her eyes landed on the sleep-glazed ones of James Greer.

"Fancy meeting you here," he added.

Cathy blinked, the corner of her mouth quirking up. She did not know Greer well, but in the time that she had, she had not known him to joke. "Jim. It's good to see you awake, sir."

He grimaced, shifting. "I wish I could say it's good to be awake. How long have I been out?"

"I don't know." She stretched. "I've been here since...Mhm, eight-thirty. It's almost three o'clock, now, and you've been unconscious the whole time." She stood, rummaging through her purse until she found a small, orange prescription bottle.

"Is he okay?"

Cathy looked up. Greer's eyes were on Jack, his face displaying more alarm than she had heard in his voice. She tucked the smile away inside of her. "He will be. We'll give him a few more hours, then we'll see if we can get some Gatorade into him." She gave a chagrin-filled smile. "He'll be running around chasing terrorists before you can say "slow down, Jack."

Greer chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"Yeah," she said softly, eyes on the man in question. She shook herself. "Speaking of Gatorade," she said, grabbing a bottle out of the mini-fridge and breaking the seal, "do you think you can drink some of this for me?"

When he nodded, she reached for the extra pillows on Jack's bed and helped Greer to sit up against them. She held the bottle steady while he took a few long draughts.

"Better?"

He nodded. "Thanks."

"Can you swallow these?" She shook three small tablets from the prescription bottle.

"What are they?"

"Think of it as Ibuprofen on steroids. You'll want some."

He took them, and after a few tries, did manage to get them down. Cathy took the Gatorade and set it on the nightstand. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot," he deadpanned.

Her eyebrow arched. "You figure that out on your own?"

"Sorry. Uh...Weak."

She nodded. "That's to be expected. You were down a lot of blood."

"'Were?'"

"Well, it'll still be a while before your count is back where it should be, but fortunately, there was a donor in the area to speed up the process."

Greer's eyes followed her own to land on Jack.

"He saved your life," she said softly.

He nodded, eyes still on his sleeping partner. "Not the first time."

She swallowed, trying to find words to voice the question on her heart. "Are you--do you two...uhm." She felt Greer's gaze on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet it. "Are you close?" She gave an internal facepalm and hoped the dim lighting would hide the way she flushed. _Well._ That _didn'tcomeoutright._ When at last she summoned the courage to look at him, she found him watching her with an amused smirk, which she had expected. What surprised her was the softness in his eyes.

"I watch his back, Cathy."

Relief flooded her, and she nodded, attempting a smile.

"I mean, someone has to," he went on. "That boy has more talent for finding--or creating--trouble than anyone I've ever met."

She chuckled, and was about to respond when Greer's eyes switched to Jack, and he tensed as if about to rise, gasped, paled, and fell back into the pillows with a curse.

Jack stirred restlessly in his sleep, brow furrowed beneath a sheen of sweat. With a strangled cry, he flung out an arm as if to catch something.

Cathy found herself on the edge of the bed, her left hand cradled below his ear, thumb rubbing across his cheek as her right caught the hand that was now clutching at air. "Jack. Hey, you're okay. You're safe." His face turned deeper into her touch, and she was positive her heart had suddenly become liquescent, despite her Ph.D.'s worth of medical knowledge which suggested otherwise. "You're okay, you're okay." Greer's presence was the only reason she caught the _I'm here_ before it passed her lips. "Shh, shh."

Jack let out a shuddering gasp before his breaths evened out and he quieted, his face becoming heavy in her palm. She resisted the urge to press a kiss to his forehead, settling instead for giving his shoulder a final squeeze before she turned, shifting to sit more squarely on the bed. She met Greer's eyes only briefly before her gaze fell on her loafers.

"He, uh, he does that sometimes." Greer's voice was low.

She nodded.

They sat in silence until Greer, too, drifted to sleep, and Cathy was alone once more.

* * *

Cathy was dozing when Jack released a long, shuddering sigh and began to stir. She sat up a little straighter, pressing a hand to the small of her back. Light filtered through the windows and cast a cool haze in the room.

Jack swallowed and opened his eyes, blinking at her blearily.

"Hey." She smiled.

"Hey. You're still here." He rubbed a hand over his face and looked over at Greer. "'S he okay?"

Cathy nodded. "I expect a full recovery. He was awake for a little while earlier, and feeling well enough to complain about your penchant for finding trouble."

Jack huffed. "Really? Yeah, well, this particular mess is as much his fault as mine." He gave the room a quick sweep before his gaze landed back on Cathy. "What time is it?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "My phone died a bit ago."

He sat up, frowning when his left sleeve dangled behind him. His eyes fell on the neat bandage on his arm, and he stretched, wincing, bending and straightening the limb a few times before struggling back into his sleeve. "Thanks."

Cathy waved it aside. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay."

She felt her eyebrows climb to an impossible height as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Really?"

Jack chuckled. "Fine. I feel like crap."

"Now that I believe." She retrieved the second bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and held it out to him. "This will help."

He unscrewed the cap and took a few sips, appraising her silently. Then his eyes widened and he swore. "You're still here! Don't you have work?"

She shook her head, working hard to control the muscles suddenly threatening to pull her lips into a smile. "I think, uh, I think I'm coming down with a cold."

"Oh." Then softly, "Thank you, Cathy."

The smile won. "I needed a day off anyway." She shifted her feet as a flutter of anxiety rose in her. "Hey, um...Can we talk?"

"Uh--yeah. Yeah."

Returning to her chair, Cathy crossed her arms and studied a pattern of stains on the carpet as she gathered her thoughts. Jack's gaze burned on her, making it impossible to focus. She swallowed.

"Cathy."

She looked up.

"What's wrong, Cath?" His voice was gentle, eyes clouded with concern, and before she knew what she was doing, she had moved to sit next to him on the bed. The guilt came flooding back, and a lump rose in her throat. She slid her hand into his larger one. It stiffened for a split second before it closed, warm and firm around her fingers.

They sat like that for a minute or two, Cathy staring at the floor and Jack gazing at Cathy, before she spoke. "I think...I think I've been lying." She shook her head. "I know I have. To myself. And to you, too, really. I uh...I told you I left because I felt stuck, and we weren't working."

She sensed, more than saw, him nod beside her.

The words came slowly, each one taking more courage than she was sure she could muster. Her voice was high and thready, it's tone unfamiliar to her ears. "Well, that was true, um, to an extent. But mostly I left because I was scared. I was scared I might lose you, or that you might leave."

"Cathy--"

She held up a hand. "No, let me--this is really hard, so let me finish." She closed her eyes for a moment and rushed on, the words tumbling out in a confused torrent. "I loved you." She met his eyes. "I loved you like I have never loved anyone in all of my life, and it felt _so good._ I found this--this amazing thing that I'd never experienced before, and I was terrified. So I--I bolted. I bolted because I was afraid, and I am so sorry, but I think...I think I still love you, and I think I always will." She paused for another deep breath. "So, uh, what I'm trying to say is...If you're willing, I'd like to try again. Uh, you know, take it slow and see where it goes?"

She ventured to look up again. Jack's eyes twinkled, a soft smile playing at his mouth. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and whispered, "I love you, Cathy."

Cathy held her breath. "Is that a yes, or...?"

He laughed, nodding. "That's a yes."

She let out a very undignified sob of relief, tipping forward until her face was buried in his shoulder. She smiled, breathing deeply the scents of old spice, hotel soap, and _Jack._

_I missed you._

He ran a hand over her hair, and she felt a kiss pressed to the top of her head. "Definitely a yes," he whispered.

They sat there in blissful silence for a long moment before Cathy bit her lip, suddenly remembering something. "Hey, uh...Were you using that scar gel I left for you?"

He chuckled, and she felt his voice rumble in his chest as he answered. "I was. I didn't care so much about the scar, but it was all I had, um...of you. But it ran out. I like this better."

Guilt burned her throat again, and she squeezed her eyes closed. "I'm so sorry," she murmured.

"Don't be." He drew away until she met his eyes. "Cathy, don't be. It's a two-way street. I should have been more open with you, but I was afraid of scaring you away." He huffed. "I guess I managed to do that anyway." He glanced down and continued, his voice low. "I'm not used _to...this._ That chopper went down seven years ago, and I've been carrying the ghosts on my own ever since. The prospect of sharing them is--" he shook his head. "It's terrifying. And if I do open up that part of me to you, I'm, uh, I'm not sure you'll like what you find." His voice had grown so quiet, she had to strain to hear the last part.

She took his hand. "You shouldn't have to face them alone. I may have left out of fear, but I am not afraid of your demons, Jack."

A wet laugh escaped his lips. "Then you're braver than I am."

She shook her head, giggling almost giddily. "I'm terrified. But I think...If we face this together, and if we're honest with each other, I think we'll be okay."

Jack pulled her close. After a few minutes, his head came to rest on hers and his breaths grew slow and deep. He was asleep.

Cathy uttered a silent curse. The Gatorade still stood on the nightstand, nearly full.

* * *

Sometime in the midmorning, she had carefully peeled herself away from Jack to redress Greer's wound. Cutting away the blood-stained gauze, she glanced up to find him watching her intently.

"You're good for him, you know."

She felt her face redden, grateful for the work that gave her an excuse to look away. Had he heard their conversation?

"I'm a light sleeper," he said, as though she had spoken out loud.

She was certain her face was now approximately the color of a very ripe tomato. Unsure what to say, she opted for silence.

"Don't worry. I'm not one to get mixed up in people's business. I just thought you should know."

She looked at him for a moment and nodded. "I, uh...thanks." She began to wrap fresh gauze around the wound, eyes on her work but her focus elsewhere. "Take care of him?"

"I will."

Hours later, as the warm glow of the setting sun lit the small room, Cathy packed up her things and prepared to go. She had shown Jack how to continue to care for Greer's wound (and his own) to avoid infection. The shopping bag she had filled with extra gauze, antiseptic, pain killers, iron tablets, and other supplies, now sat beneath the window with Jack's bag.

She hefted her purse, now much lighter, smiling briskly as she glanced between the two men before her. "Well, I'd better be going."

"Thank you for this, Cathy," Greer offered earnestly.

She nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Of course. If you need anything, you know where to find me." She turned to go.

"Here," Jack blurted, reaching for her purse, "I'll walk you downstairs."

"Alright," she smiled.

She lifted her hand in goodbye to Greer, and the door screeched closed behind them.

In the hall, on its stained carpet of mustard yellow, Jack and Cathy stood in silence, searching each other's eyes.

"I'd uh, I'd walk you to your car," Jack said after a moment, "but under the circumstances..."

"I know." She hesitated. "So, when this is all over...Coffee?"

"Yes! Um, absolutely."

"Okay then. It's a date." She savored the glimpse of him grinning like an idiot as she turned to descend the stairs.

The reek of cigar smoke, both fresh and stale, cloyed at her senses as she stepped into the lobby. The receptionist never looked up as they passed before him.

At the door, Cathy halted and looked up into Jack's face. His eyes were on her, intent and searching, as though he were trying to come to a decision.

"So, uh, I guess this is it," she offered.

Moving suddenly, Jack set her purse on the floor, stepped forward, and swept her up in what could only be described as a bear hug. Strong arms wrapped tightly around her, one hand splayed across her back as the other fisted in her hair. Her own arms slipped over his shoulders and he buried his face in her neck.

It was a long moment before he pulled away, looking at his shoes. "Cathy," he spoke softly, tentatively meeting her eyes. "I don't know how long it will be before that date. It, uh...It might be a while."

"I'll be waiting." On an impulse, she stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Bye, Jack." She slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped out into the chill wind, her smile out-shining the golden hour sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isthmus [ismus] (n) -- the strip of land that connects a peninsula to the mainland. 
> 
> So that's my story, folks. I want to take a minute to thank Zira666, who has been my incredible beta for this story, and I hope, for more Jack Ryan stories to come. Special thanks, also, to my writing mentor, Gandwise Samdalf/Dad, who was super helpful and encouraging on this one. And thank you! Yes, you. This fandom is pretty small, and it would be easy for writing fanfic here to be a lonely and thankless job. But it's not. You guys have been so incredibly kind and supportive of my fics, and that means so much to me. Huge love to you, and here's to filing our little domain up with JR fanfic.
> 
> One last note before I sign off--I have a fairly large JR project in the works, but I've been taking breaks from it to write shorter ones. If you guys have prompts/requests, I would absolutely love to hear them! I can't promise I'll do all of them, but I'd love to know what you're looking for in fanfic and hear your ideas. As long as it's smut free, there's a good chance I'll take you up on it. :)
> 
> ❤❤❤--7723


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